Nira
by ThaAnT-EileanBreagha
Summary: Nobody knows about all the people who saved your lives during the war. The history books tell you that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore fought and died for you; they're right. But nobody told you about all the people whose choices, sacrifices and unspoken courage allowed you to live and breath as you do now. This is the first story describing the lives of just a few brave souls.


Nira

Chapter I: The Beginning...

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The huge oak double doors groaned open as Professor McGonagall ushered us forwards. The ominous noise only intensified the nervous butterflies that were bubbling up and exploding in my stomach, as if I weren't feeling anxious enough. I had every right to be worried; so much so that I had to consciously suppress the trembles that threatened to consume my body - although nobody would have noticed them under the concealment of my black robes.

Never before had I been paraded out into a Great Hall such as this, where the inky night sky seemed to actually _be _the ceiling and thousands of glowing candles dripping with melted wax floated in the air just above our heads. Four polished wooden tables ran along the length of the room towards another, which seated those who must have been the teachers. Their keen gazes pierced us as our group nervously treaded along the sandstone floor towards where they sat waiting for us. But that wasn't the worst part; there were hundreds of students staring at us like we were the coolest things since baking soda volcanoes.

A rush of heat crept up into my pale cheeks as I studiously avoided all of the attention - like all the other first years - to stare up at the "ceiling". Although this was just an excuse to ignore everybody else, I was honestly fascinated by it. Apart from the one time when Professor McGonagall tried to convince my parents and me that magic _was_ in fact real (by turning my Mum's half-filled tea-cup - which was raised to her lips - into a groggy little mouse which sneezed right into her gaping mouth), and during my brief but unforgettable trip to Diagon Alley, I'd never seen magic before. It also helped that I loved astronomy, especially on a cool, crisp night such as this.

As everyone shuffled to a stop around me, I tried pressing onto my tiptoes to sneak a peak at what was happening ahead from my squashed place near the back. I was definitely the smallest in our year - and probably the slightest from what little I could see from people's robes - which didn't make me feel any more secure in this strange and magical school. Genes were genes, but it didn't help that, in addition to my petit build, I had an innocent face with a dainty nose and clear blue eyes. I wasn't pretty by any stretch of the imagination at only the age of eleven, but - much to my displeasure - I was often called "cute", if not "sweet". By goodness did that ever grate on my nerves; it does even to this day.

As I was trying to catch a glimpse of what Professor McGonagall was placing on a lone, battered stool and then gesturing at, somebody stumbled into me. Although my balance was rather good, it wasn't good enough to withstand being knocked sideways. There wasn't any room to readjust my stance or even to pinwheel my arms about like a maniac, so I crashed into the body behind me.

The first year didn't have any time to react except to make a muffled sound of utter bewilderment before I literally fell into their arms. It was doubly embarrassing when they fell to the hard stone ground, pulling me down on top of them in the process. If I had blushed before just because students were staring at our whole group, now I was flushing such a deep shade of rose that I worried that the _boy_ beneath me could feel the waves of heat.

I'd officially made what was supposed to be a terrifying yet amazing day into one of the most embarrassing in my life.

The grey-blue eyes staring up at me in surprise and shock met mine as I stared back in mortification. He had no idea what on Earth had happened so quickly and I was just as mute while my mind worked to form a coherent sentence like "thanks for being my cushion," if not an actual word.

Realising that we'd been staring at each other for a couple of very quiet moments, I settled for whispering, "I'm so sorry! I was trying to see what was happening up there," I gestured behind myself to the front where someone seemed to have broken into song, "and someone knocked into me."

Still no response except from a blink.

"Oh, right!" I exclaimed quietly when I became aware of how I was still splayed across his body. I flushed again. "I'll just..." With that, I swiftly clambered up to my feet before hesitantly offering him my hand. His eyes darted away from my face for the first time to look at my outstretched hand before grasping it amidst an outbreak of applause. Thank God nobody had paid attention enough to notice my slip-up.

Heaving the boy up, I quickly let go and took a hasty step backwards as far as the enclosed space allowed. I'd guessed that the rest of the first years had made a rapid retreat from us before becoming enraptured by the singing up front. With my face more that an inch away from his for the first time, I briefly noticed how he had incredibly light blonde hair and a face almost pale enough to match mine.

My face creased in concern when he still didn't speak and I quickly examined him for any obvious injuries before leaning back to once again look up at his face. He didn't seem angry. Yet.

"I hope I didn't give you any bruises," I murmured, just loudly enough to be heard over the occasional call of a name - they were at "MacDougal, Morag".

Finally, the pale boy's inscrutable, angular face contorted somewhere between a frown and a half-smile, like he didn't know how he felt about a scrawny little girl crashing into him for no good reason. Then, as if coming to his senses, he settled for scowling at me and giving me a dismissive shrug. "It doesn't matter."

Before I could say anything else, the boy's head snapped up to the front at the call for "Malfoy, Draco" - it didn't take a genius to work out who he was by then. His cold face briefly turned back to mine as if deciding whether to say something before obviously choosing otherwise and briskly walked up to where Professor McGonagall impatiently stood holding a tattered old wizard's hat above the rickety stool. The cool brush off felt rather rude, as if he felt that speaking to me was beneath him, but seeing him purposefully shoulder into a skinny black-haired boy gave me the impression that he might have actually been "nice" to me, all considering.

Draco sat down on the stool and let Professor McGonagall place the weathered hat on top of his seemingly pristine platinum hair. His face pinched - probably at the knowledge that something so dirty was touching him - but it didn't last a second before the hat seemingly tore itself apart above its brim into something resembling a mouth and screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

There was barely enough time for this to sink in - a talking hat! - before McGonagall had eventually skimmed down the scroll she carried in her free hand and called, "Sparrow, Niramelle."

All at once, I forgot everything but the ability to walk through the pitifully small group of remaining first years. I felt disconnected from my body as my legs carried me towards the stern deputy. Dear goodness, I didn't belong here. What if that... hat said that I should be sent home because I had no magic? And after seeing all of this! I didn't think that I could bear that.

Uneasy was hardly a good enough word to describe how I felt as I swiveled around to sit on the rickety stool, facing the even more daunting sea of faces in front of me. The butterflies returned to the pit of my stomach despite telling myself to pull myself together. I made a point of not looking in Draco's direction; otherwise I'd have felt a whole lot worse, if that were possible.

When the hat slipped over my head to cover my eyes, all I could do was sneeze and hope that my face wouldn't set off any fire alarms when amused sniggers reached my covered ears - not that they'd have any alarms in a magic school such as Hogwarts.

"My, my, haven't we had an interesting day, hmm?" remarked a seemingly disembodied voi- Wait, was that the ratty old hat?

"Why yes, that would be me, but must you insist on calling me "ratty"? I'll have you know that I am probably in the best condition you will ever see a hat of my ripe old age." The hat huffed, dishevelling my hair and tickling the bridge of my nose in the process. "Now, since you weren't listening during my rather enlightening song, I'll explain how this will all work. I was created by Godric Gryffindor to sort..." The hat trailed off. "Ah, you already know. Well, look who's been doing their homework."

"I just wanted to be prepared, and anyway, it was interesting stuff," I defended myself. I wonder what it- his name is? Calling a talking hat "the hat" just seemed... wrong. "But can you please stop reading my mind - it's rather rude."

The hat chuckled in my ear. "It's all part of the sorting Miss Sparrow and I'm afraid that I can't simply stop "reading" your mind until you've been sorted. But never mind that, we're halfway there already. You certainly seem to be bold enough in that mind of yours - even if you are reluctantly so - now that you've realised that no one is going to throw you out. And might I just add that you are in no shortage of magic. Hmm, you also have a great thirst for knowledge and are naturally bright - but don't get a big head now; I've already sorted enough of them for the day.

"But, what's this?" the Hat asked distractedly. "A desperate need to prove yourself. Well, we can still probably rule Slytherin out since, pardon me for breaking this to you, you are utterly incapable of being sly or self-serving. But even then... Dear oh dear, this is going to be difficult indeed. You have a lot of potential in any of the remaining houses. You are clever and wish to show the world your worth, but you are uncomfortable with me saying this aloud: you don't want attention, just self-respect. And you would be willing to fight for your friends and family, yet you put complete strangers before yourself. But where shall I place you... There's only one thing for it: choose."

"What?" I asked in utter confusion. "You want me to choose my own house? Isn't that your job?"

"Yes, but I've decided that you would be a better judge of your own character."

As if I hadn't had enough on my mind already, what with being blindfolded by a talking hat while hundreds of pupils stared at me impatiently and all. I didn't want to have to stress over where I'd be staying for the next seven years aswell! "You're giving up!"

"No, I'm not. Now pick."

"But-"

"Come on, hurry up. There are others waiting to be sorted and you're holding up the queue!"

_Bloody Hell._ "Uh... Hufflepuff."

"Really?"

"Yes," I responded defensively. "What's so wrong with that?"

"Oh nothing, nothing. I just hadn't expected that. To be honest, I'd thought that you'd opt to join your young friend in Slytherin even though I'd advised against it."

"Who?" I asked in confusion.

"Why, the young man whom you fell on; that's who!"

"Oh." There wasn't anything else to say.

"Oh well..." The Hat sucked in a deep breath and shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

"I still don't understand why you chose it - even the name sounds like the worst of them all - begging your pardon Helga. By the way, my name's Gerald, since you kept on wondering."

And with that, I took off Gerald and began my life as a Hufflepuff. And no matter what you may think later, I would never have chosen another house.

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Disclaimer: I do not own anything of J. K. Rowling's world except from my original characters: Nira Sparrow and her family. Also, I'm only getting a sense of accomplishment out of this and no money. (This disclaimer will apply to all future chapters in this story.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you very much for reading this and I hope that it wasn't too dire or stiff. I'll be rereading some of the Harry Potter books - again - to familiarize myself with the characterisation and events, so further updates may take longer than I'd hoped since my time's limited with school, Highers, etc. Also, since I don't like author's notes in general I'll just say this now: if updates do take a while to upload, then either I'm taking my Highers/exams or there's a family emergency. And with that, I hope you enjoy this wee story.

P. S. Nira(melle) is pronounced Nee-ra(-mell).

P. P. S. I'd really appreciate it if you would review. I don't mind whether it's to give me constructive criticism or words of encouragement; it's just nice to know that people care enough about the story to review. Or, on a slightly less cheerful note, if you don't tell me what's wrong with my story then how can I fix it?

Love, ThaAnT-EileanBreaghax.


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